


Who Said You Could Touch?

by victorcharlie



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Boys Are Dumb, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, but also stupid dumb, just boys being silly, sexy silly that is, that's why they need gals to help them out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 09:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13187562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorcharlie/pseuds/victorcharlie
Summary: Arthur. Eames. High school dummies.Or, Eames has a pantyhose fetish. Arthur finds himself involuntarily (and then maybe a lot voluntarily) enabling the fetish. And of course they have to deal with feelings along the way.





	Who Said You Could Touch?

**Author's Note:**

> Hooboy, this was a doozy. Now I kinda of know how people can get carried away and end up writing over 15k. Now I know. 
> 
> Fair warning, this sort of wrote its own smutty self, but I've been a little under the weather at the tail-end of this so I just wanted to be done with it, so: a) this isn't beta'd, but if someone who like, I'm much obliged; b) POV? what POV? I may have definitely fucked back and forth with the POV so much you get whiplash but all in all I think I've made it pretty clear how it all goes; c) because of the wonky POV, you may notice some switch between American and British terms; d) maybe most fyi, the timeline of this starts on a Thursday morning and ends on a Monday night with flashbacks and other jazz all thrown in~
> 
> This is based on a equally porny lil manga called 'Jackass! – Sawatte Ii tte Dare ga Itta yo?' by the truly magnificent Scarlet Beriko. I used it as a fairly strict outline but I did take some artistic liberties to alter things. If my fic gets you going, I highlyhighly push you to go feast your eyes on that manga (and any other/all of their works) because it's beautiful art, good plot, and porny af porn. 
> 
> Anyways. I see how people get carried away in the notes, too. Onwards!

It’s a surprisingly balmy April Thursday and Arthur’s thankful for it, even if it portends the further destruction of the global climate, because it makes for faster air-drying of laundry in the morning. His deft and practiced fingers quickly move between the laundry basket at his feet and pinning the damp assortment of two pairs of socks, blouse, and towel to the clothesline. He feels a small bead of sweat run down his back and grimaces when it wicks into his button-up. Gathering his hair off his neck with one hand, Arthur nimbly secures the mass into a small loop at the back of his head with the other. The balcony slide door clatters open and Arthur turns to see Ariadne leaning against the door frame.

“What did Sarah do this time?” Ariadne smirks knowingly, pushing herself off the frame and motioning inside. “Come on we’re going to be late for school.”

Arthur uses his foot to slide the laundry basket to the side before following Ariadne inside, closing the slide door behind him. “Hey, if you want to complain about tardiness, go bother Sarah. She knows she’s a lightweight and yet still somehow always manages to bring the vomit home,” he grumbles and walks over to the kitchenette, grabbing his three-tier tiffin from the fridge. “Made it all the way back from office happy hour without throwing up, and the second she steps into the apartment and gets within range of me, that’s when she decides to throw up.”

“At least her aim’s getting better,” Ariadne says from the small dining table, chewing on a piece of Marmite toast, “I only saw your socks this time.”

“You’re right, how I miss having the pleasure of washing my entire outfit after my sister’s vomit gets on me,” Arthur deadpans, moving around the apartment to grab his school things. “Thankfully I managed to catch her at the door, so she only got my feet.” 

“Hey, you punk, are you bad mouthing me to Ari?” Sarah ambles out of the bathroom into the living space with a toothbrush in hand, face flushed and hair twisted up in a towel. With foam sporadically spraying her mouth, Arthur’s sister is a spry twenty-nine to his sensible seventeen. “I’ll have you know I now make a concerted effort of vomiting immediately upon arrival.” 

“You deserve a medal, Sarah,” Ariadne simpers from where she moves to butter another slice of toast. 

Sarah rolls her eyes and swats at Ariadne, who grins and dodges. “I work and pay the bills; Arthur has to put up with a bit of Sloppy Sarah once in a while.” She spits into the kitchenette sink and rinses her mouth. “Hurry up, Arthur, you’re going to miss the shuttle.”

“And whose fault is that!” Arthur’s voice comes from his bedroom. “Do you know where my gym pants are?” 

“Yeah, they’re somewhere in my room. I stole them to wear to sleep last night.” Sarah takes the proffered slice of toast from Ariadne. They share a smirk as Arthur grumbles something about ungrateful sisters and stomps into Sarah’s bedroom. “So, Ari, what’s up with you? Ready for graduation? Studying for entrance exams? Have you convinced Arthur to go on the school trip like a good boy for me?” she raises her voice knowingly, nibbling delicately at her toast.

Ariadne sighs dramatically and shrugs, adjusting her necktie and slipping on the school blazer. “You know I’m trying, Sarah. Unfortunately, it seems my powers of persuasion and seduction only work on the fairer sex.”

“Go fuck yourself, Ari,” Arthur calls out as Sarah cackles. “And no, Sarah, she hasn’t, so stop pestering about it.” Arthur comes out into the living space stuffing his gym pants into his bag; he’s got his blazer on as well. “I don’t need to go and I don’t care to go. It’s an exorbitant waste of money and there are other things I can be doing.”

“It’s your last year, Arthur, you’re supposed to have some fun! Studying and working during all your free time is not fun!” she says, following Arthur and Ariadne to the front door, watching them lace up their shoes. “How about this: I’m giving you expressed permission to go wild and go on a banger, or whatever you kids call it these days. Ari, I order you to take my idiot brother on a banger!”

Arthur groans and shoves a cackling Ariadne out of the door. “Go on, I’ll catch up with you.”

“Don’t be too long or you’ll really miss the shuttle and be late.” Ariadne looks back at Sarah and finger waves congenially. “Farewell, Sarah. I bid you adieu.” She disappears from view and the door swings shut behind her.

Arthur turns and locks eyes with Sarah. The two siblings simultaneously cross their arms and engage in a halfhearted glaring contest.

“Why do you keep pushing this, Sarah?” Arthur sighs, shifting his school bag from one shoulder to the other. “I really don’t care about going on this stupid trip. It’s all nonsense and a waste of money.” 

“You do not need to be worrying about money, okay, Arthur? I appreciate how economical you are, and I’m sorry I haven’t gotten my bonus pay packet yet. But still. Leave the money worries to me, all right? I just want you to get to act and be your age and not get caught up in being older than you are. Leave that to your great big sister,” she says, pulling Arthur into an unreciprocated hug. The twisted towel wrap on her head provides cushioning for his face and smells of lavender. “Mom and dad would want you to have fun.”

A beat passes and the inexorable sting of tears swells between his eyes. Arthur drops his school bag in order to lean more heavily onto Sarah and return the hug, the fight and tension leaving his body.

“You always pull that card,” he mumbles into the towel.

“Yeah, because I know it works.” Sarah squeezes Arthur tightly before releasing him. She reaches up and flicks at his forehead, pushing him through the door.

“I’m still not going,” he calls over his shoulder, gripping his bag as he takes off into a run.

“Yeah, all right, all right. Get out of here, you punk. Get to school, go and study properly and all that shit.”

\---

Glancing down at his wristwatch tells Arthur he has fifteen til the shuttle arrives and he has at least another two miles, so Arthur hooks the school bag straps over his shoulder like a backpack and picks up his pace to a run.

Running is good to Arthur. It has always been his metaphorical escape before he even recognized it as such.

The contact of sole to ground is quite literally grounding. Pushing through side stitches and shortness of breath rewarding. His affinity for the gerund even makes sense when one considers that it seems like he’d been physically built for it: Long and lean; strong, muscular legs capable of withstanding continuous blunt impact. It was just masochistic enough of a hobby that Arthur reveled in it.

Granted, running was never an metaphor inasmuch as it was literal.

He was always running.

Running to the finish line in a competition.

(Running away from immature bullies.)

Running home for dinner after a run.

(Running away from the family liaison officer.)

Running with friends.

(Running away from his problems.)

Running to catch the designated shuttle for school.

The verbiage of it all was funny, he did realize.

Running is easy for Arthur.

\---

By the time he catches up with Ariadne at the shuttle, Dom is standing with her, wearing a matching school uniform. His hair has escaped from its loop and hangs in a ponytail. He doesn’t care to redo it.

“Glad you made it. I was getting worried Sarah had maybe thrown up on you all over again,” Ariadne jokes, brushing a leaf out of Arthur’s hair.

“Did she manage to avoid the carpet at least?” Dom teases, sidestepping Arthur’s swat. 

“Hey, she works hard for the both of us. The least I can do is clean up her vile, disgusting mess more often than I’d prefer.” Arthur can’t help but to roll his eyes at the thought.

The shuttle pulls into the station with a billow of air, further disheveling his hair. The three wait for passengers to exit before stepping on and finding empty space on a railing to hold onto. Ariadne stands between the two boys for support, not quite able to fully grab the handle. 

“Anyways, Dom,” Ariadne grunts as the train makes a turn, “Help me convince Arthur to go on the grad trip.”

“This again?” Dom winces when Ariadne smacks him.

She turns to Arthur. “Look, you know my parents would help pitch in. It would literally be like a graduation gift from them.”

Arthur sighs and shifts hands on the handle. “Ari, I’m not accepting anymore of your parents’ money.” 

“Yes, okay, but it’d be a gift,” she elbows Arthur’s side, “Don’t you want to go to Paris? See all the architecture that inspired you to apply to those schools?”

“Cut it out, Ari. I don’t need any gifts because it’s not a matter of my wants. I’ll see it all eventually.” His tone is final, ending the conversation.

Ariadne huffs and turns to Dom, knowing when Arthur’s refusing to budge. They start talking about some movie and Arthur looks stubbornly forward out the window.

\---

Half the day somehow passes and the bell rings for lunch hour.

Arthur gathers his things and makes his way through the hallways, nodding in greeting at various classmates. He climbs up three and a half flights of stairs before sneaking away to a recessed doorway. Pushing through the door brings Arthur to the roof of the main administrative building; he can see the vast expanse of the school’s grounds, where other campus building are scattered around and students mulling about eating lunch in groups and under trees.

He turns to find Eames sitting against the wall, flipping through a textbook and making notes in a journal. Eames looks up at his arrival, scratching a hand through his stubble.

“Busy morning?” Arthur asks, taking a seat next to Eames. The textbook is microbiology.

“Ha. Well, let’s see. First there was polo practice, then it was tutorial for bloody physics, then I managed to fit in a quick snog with Louisa, or maybe it was Valerie, I forget, then I buggered off to classes and now here we are,” Eames finishes his notes with flourish and slams the textbook closed, tossing both aside, “Lunchtime with my favorite classmate.” He looks over to Arthur and grins, making grabbing hands. “So then, what’s for lunch today? Let’s have a looksee and a nibble then.”

Arthur swats Eames’ hands away but nonetheless rifles through his bag to pull out his tiffin. “Eames, it’s not my job to feed you. I’m not sharing my food with you.” 

“Why ever not?” Eames pouts, “I always share my food with you when you ask.” He reaches to his other side to pull a lunch tray filled with food onto his lap. It looks like what room service is served on at a five-star hotel. The lunch theme today is ‘Tapas’ with a corresponding assortment of Spanish dishes.

“I have never once asked for you food.” Arthur unhinged the top two tiers of his tiffin, revealing a bed of coconut jasmine rice with chicken tikka masala, sauteed vegetables and naan, and meticulously peeled and cut fruit.

“Yes, all right, but I would if you asked.” Eames stabs one of Arthur’s apples and crunches loudly.

Arthur returns the favor by spearing an olive.

“What can I say, there’s just something about sharing food with you, Arthur darling, that I can’t resist,” Eames says, grinning around his fork.

Arthur rolls his eyes and looks to his food. He doesn’t dodge Eames’ spoon scooping into his rice. He also doesn’t watch as Eames brings the spoon to his very normal-looking, not appealing, plush lips.

“Oh, that’s bloody delicious, that is. Honestly, I have the right mind to go and tell Agatha she’s ought to take some cooking lessons from you. You’ll make a proper wife yet, pet.”

“Fuck off, Eames,” Arthur mock snaps, but can’t help the ridiculously happy flush that rises up his neck and he preens from the compliment. Agatha’s a retired sous chef from a two-Michelin star restaurant.

They fall into companionable silence, shoulder to shoulder, eating off each others’ meals. Making quick work of the food per usual, bellies sated, the rest of the hour is spent sprawled on their backs with their blazers over their faces. Eames is humming something under his breath that is further muffled by his blazer, but Arthur’s close enough that he can just barely make out the melody. Arthur would usually be thinking ahead in the day, about classes and work, but today he can’t bring himself to care about anything but comfortable roast of the sun and the sporadic nudges of Eames’ foot against his as Eames bobs to whatever music is in his head.

Nevertheless, the clocktower bongs on time at the hour mark signaling the end of lunch. Eames makes an obnoxious noise of complaint, clambering to his feet. 

“Will no one ever explain to me the reason why we have phys ed scheduled immediately after lunch?” he yawns out a stretch, back cracking, “All I want is a good siesta.”

Arthur’s usual retort is overtaken by his own yawn as he sits up, blearily blinking into space.

“Up we go, pet,” Eames offers his forearm for Arthur to grab and hauls him up, “Time for your favorite calisthenics.”

“Running is not a form of calisthenics,” Arthur grumbles, taking his things from Eames as they head off the roof.

“Afraid it is,” Eames smirks, genially waving at a group of girls, “Especially when you make it look so good.”

They exit the building to join the mass of their peers heading towards the gym. It’s a large, state-of-the-art facility with everything from a multi-sport games court to an offshoot that houses an Olympic-sized swimming pool. The outdoor grounds is equally modern, although well over triple the size of the indoors in order to fit a track field, polo field, and multiple tennis courts.

Everyone separates to their respective locker rooms, and Arthur and Eames separate again upon entering as their lockers are on opposite sides of the room. It’s raucous with boys chattering and horseplaying.

Arthur beelines for his locker and deftly spins in the code. He takes out his gym clothes and puts away his bag. It’s practically autopilot as he undresses, neatly hanging his uniform, and changes. Arthur yawns as he slides his right leg into the corresponding slot of his gym pants. He steps into the left leg and something catches as he pushes all the way through.

Looking down, he sees the limp excess of black pantyhose hanging off his left foot, caught on his sock.

‘What the hell..’ His mind sorts through the various reasons and logically determines it’s Sarah to blame.

The gym coach pops his head into the room. “All right, boys, quickly now. Stop faffing around in there and get out here so we can start.” 

“Arthur, you ready for some footie?” Eames says as he turns the corner around a locker.

He zeros in on the pantyhose before Arthur can stuff his feet into his gym shoes.

A moment passes and Arthur mentally berates himself for missing the chance to play it off as a joke. His mouth opens and closes, words not formulating; however, Eames beats him to the chase.

“What’s that, Arthur? You’re not feeling well? Oh, that’s too bad. Here, I’ll escort you to the infirmary.” Eames volunteers loudly and to no one in particular, grabbing Arthur. “Coach, no need to wait up. Be back in a jiffy.”

Neither wait for a reply before Eames drags Arthur out of the locker room and through the hallway that takes them back to the main campus building where the nurse’s office is located.

The awkward walk is punctuated only with the awkward cushion sound of Arthur’s left step. Fortunately, no one is around to watch since class has begun, but Arthur doubts anyone would be able to ascertain what was going on at the speed Eames was making them walk.

They make a sharp turn down the corridor, heading to the door with an overhead sign that reads ‘Infirmary’ and Eames throws the door open.

Whereas Arthur thought he’d have to make up some ridiculous lie as to why he was out of gym class that didn’t include calling attention to the pantyhose hanging off his left foot, he thinks he’d rather be up to that task than be witness to the scene in front of him.

Dom, now frozen and red, is leaning against the desk and over Nurse Miles, who’s ostensibly unflustered for someone who was just walked in on, going in for a kiss. They separate and Nurse Miles turns an unimpressed look onto Eames, while Dom adjusts his already straight tie.

“Whoops, well here we all are. Arthur’s feeling a bit under the weather so we’re going to just pop right in here. Don’t mind us.” Eames says, pushing Arthur towards a curtained bed.

“What the hell, Dom.” Arthur gapes at his friend.

“Nothing to be seen here, darling. I’m sure Mal and Dom are on their way out to attend to other things.” Eames shoves Arthur into the space and pulls the curtain shut just as the door clanks closed.

“Wait, is there something going on between Dom and Nurse Miles?” Arthur goes to move around Eames but is stopped with a hand to his chest.

“None of that for now. I’m sure you can interrogate Dom and his interactions with our school nurse at another time.” A sharp push sends Arthur back onto the bedding, startling a gasp out of him.

“What are you doing, Eames?”

“Now, now, pet. I saw you were in a small kerfuffle and had to help ameliorate the issue.” Eames gently tugs down at Arthur’s gym pants. “Let’s see what we have here.”

The toned lines of Arthur’s legs are revealed inch by inch: one bare; the other sheathed in sheer black pantyhose. The

Arthur’s freezes, staring at Eames, who in turn stares very intently at Arthur’s right leg.

“Eames--”

“Shh, Arthur. Give me a moment.” Eames absentmindedly folds the gym pants and hangs them over an adjacent chair. He moves slowly towards Arthur’s covered leg, forcing a reciprocal move back from Arthur, and gently cups his ankle. “You've always had such lovely legs.”

“Eames, what are you doing.” A slight stroke up his ankle sends a rush up Arthur’s spine.

“They’re long with just the right balance of muscle, and even such delicate ankles,” Eames murmurs to himself, leaning down to meet Arthur’s shin halfway and lays his lips against the nylon above Arthur’s ankle where he cradles Arthur’s foot. “Must be from all the running.”

The enclosed has managed to collect the elevated temperatures of their bodies and breathing. Arthur feels the heat radiating from the epicenter that is Eames’ plush lips against his shin; a breath out sends a moist puff of air across his leg. Eames’ hands begin to slowly wander upwards, gently caressing the expanse of Arthur’s leg, seemingly in a trance-like state of enrapture.

“You don’t even have that much leg hair, either. It’s all fine strands, like your hair.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, do you have a leg fetish or something?” Arthur helplessly covers his eyes as if to block out the transpiring moment.

Eames tuts and his slight stubble catches onto the material, scratching Arthur’s leg. “Hm, not quite the legs. It’s a bit different, really.” He pauses on his ascent to glance up at Arthur, who peaks through at Eames from behind his fingers. “It’s the pantyhose, I’m afraid. What’s better than a beautiful pair of legs in black pantyhose.”

Arthur can’t breathe and feels his blood pulsing under his eyes and thumping in his ears. He tries and wills the blood rushing down to his cock to behave, but his eyes wander to where Eames’ fringe has separated from its product.

“Really, Arthur, had I known.” Eames kneels on the bed and hikes up Arthur’s leg over his shoulder. His eyes are closed. Unconsciously mouths at Arthur’s thigh and dares to bring teeth to bite, sending a sharp spike of arousal directly to his cock.

Arthur can’t help but let out a helpless moan, shifting in attempt of alleviating some of the strain on his cock. 

The trance is broken when the bells rings over the intercom to signal class changing.

Arthur jerks his leg out of Eames’ hold. The path of his falling foot directs his sight to Eames’ crotch where a noticeable bulge has formed.

“Well, that’s the bell.” Eames voices roughs out, but still manages to don his trademark smirk, albeit a bit off kilter. “I think I’m going to pop into the loo. I’ll catch you later, Arthur. Don’t be late to class.”

Eames stiffly walks over to the curtain, throws it open and exits.

Arthur falls back onto the bed and tries to ignore his erection long enough that it’ll go down and he can run back to the locker rooms to change and make it to his next class. His thoughts nevertheless return to what just happened and his cock jumps. Arthur relents and decides to be late.

\---

Fortunately, the rest of the day with by in a flash as Arthur was able to busy himself with his remaining classes and his part-time job working at the mall, which wasn’t his ideal job by a longshot but the mall was nearby and he gets paid relatively well for someone who sits behind the register for the majority of his shifts.

However, his mind catches up with him when his day winds down and he gets back home. He changes out of his work uniform into more comfortable loungewear, dumping his school things out to assess his workload.

The black pantyhose tumble out, caught between some journals. He doesn’t fight the blush that runs down his body as he stares at the black mass. There’s nothing inherently offending to the pantyhose, he knows, if anything, he can rationally see the inherent eroticsm of the item.

And why Eames maybe has the fetish he does.

No, he berates himself for following that train of thought. Without spending another second thinking about any of it, Arthur snatches the pantyhose and goes to wash them.

A few minutes and some scrubbing later, the pantyhose is pinned up on the clothesline with the other things from this morning. It hangs soft and lax, inhabiting a different life when empty.

Arthur returns inside to start dinner before Sarah gets over from work.

He falls back into his normal routine. Which is why Arthur is lulled back into complacency and unable to turn off his mind when he finds himself at dinner, thrown and irritated by that afternoon’s incident. He replays everything from him grabbing his gym pants from Sarah’s room to changing and getting his leg caught in the pantyhose to Eames’ reaction to seeing it to being dragged to the nurse’s office to Dom and Nurse Miles to being thrown to bed by Eames to--

“This is really good. What is this?” Sarah asks with her mouth full.

“It’s just spag bol.”

“Mm, well it’s good,” Sarah slurps at the noodles, “So. Aunt Martha called me today after work offering to help pay for your grad trip.”

Arthur drops his fork and exhales, secretly relieved to confront something more familiar. “I told Ari I didn’t want to go. Why do you all insist on pushing this!”

“Hey, don’t raise your voice at me,” Sarah jabs her fork at Arthur, who is appropriately cowed, “I thanked her for thinking of us, but told her we weren’t going to take anymore of their money--”

“Okay--”

“Because I’m paying for it.”

“Sarah! For the last time, I don’t need this trip. I already got into university on scholarship.”

“Exactly! So I’m rewarding you for doing such a fucking great job these past four years and sending you on this goddamn trip,” Sarah reaches across the table to hold Arthur’s hand, “I know you want to go, Arthur.”

He pulls his hand from her grasp and pushes away from the table. “Can you just stop it already, and stop fucking wasting your money.”

Sarah crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. “Hey! Do not misplace blame of your being scared of letting go on our financial situation.”

Arthur scoffs and escapes to his room, slamming the door.

\---

“Your change is seven pounds, here you go. Thanks for shopping with us,” Arthur says. He pulls his hair back into a half-bun. “Next customer.”

Eames steps forward and drops a package of black pantyhose down on the counter.

“That’ll be all.”

“What are you doing here?” Arthur hisses.

Eames raises an eyebrow. “Why, to shop, of course,” he says, “Since you were ignoring me at school all day. I missed you at lunch. Everyone’s been questioning me about that, by the way: ‘Is Arthur mad at you, Eames?’ ‘What did you do this time, Eames?’ And you think you’re unpopular. You just need to lighten up a bit and stop scowling,” he reaches for Arthur’s forehead, “Terribly bad for you. Gives you wrinkles.”

Arthur tenses and avoids Eames’ hand. “I think I’m perfectly fine the way I am,” he scans the package, “That’ll be eight pounds.”

“Do you take credit?”

“For eight pounds?” Arthur can barely cut off the scoff before it escapes. “We have a ten pound minimum.”

“Fine then, let’s throw in… a packet of gum and some chocolates,” Eames blindly grabs at the stand next to the register, “That should do it.”

Arthur rings up the items and takes the proffered credit card.

“So what time are you off? The day’s almost over, right? Why ever do you even work on Fridays, they’re for having fun.” Eames leans onto the counter. “It’s been a while since I last visited your place.”

The mechanical churning of the receipt machine spits out a receipt that Arthur snags and shoves into a plastic bag along with the other offending items. “Is that how you invite yourself into other girls’ rooms?” he scoffs, shoving the bag into Eames’ arms.

“Well, I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t.” Eames hooks the bag onto his arm and grabs Arthur’s wrist in one swift motion. “How about it then? I’ll wait until you’re off.”

Arthur tries to jerk his hand back, but Eames holds fast. They glance down the line and see no one present.

“I’m sorry if you’re expecting the same thing as last time but there won’t be a second time.” Arthur fights the blush that threatens to surface at the mere mentioning.

The plastic bag rustles as Eames pulls in closer to Arthur’s ear. “But it was good, wasn’t it? You got hard, too, right?” His breath is warm and tickles at the hair tucked behind his ear.

The blush heats Arthur’s face and he tugs his wrist away. “It was just a physical reaction! Besides…you have plenty of other people to choose from.”

“Yes, but none of them have your legs, which are simply the best of them all,” Eames grins, “This is clearly a stroke of brilliant convenience! And besides, I also--”

“Stop right there.” Arthur clenches his teeth. “I just want us to stay normal friends, now and forever. I don’t want to ruin this. Okay?”

A moment passes and Eames laughs, tilting his head to the side. “Okay, but isn’t this this, and that that?”

Arthur stares baffled at Eames as a customer walks up.

“All right, I’ll wander around the mall and meet back up with you when your shift’s over!” Eames walks off, twirling the plastic bag.

\---

For all the disruption Eames caused earlier, he’s uncharacteristically subdued when he meets back up after his shift is over; reticent when Arthur makes a stop at Tesco for groceries; and bordering shy on the train ride back to Arthur’s. By the time they walk into the apartment, the sun has set.

“Is Sarah working late?” Eames toes off his shoes to reveal mismatched paisley socks.

“Seems like it.” Arthur bends over to unlace his shoes, placing them on their rack. “Probably doing overtime tonight.” He busies himself with stowing away groceries.

“Here, these are for you.” Eames pulls a shoe box out of another bag and presents it to Arthur.

“What…” Arthur walks over to Eames,

“New trainers. I saw them in the display and thought of your banged up old ones.”

The sneakers glean under the low lights and give off that distinctive new leather smell.

“I don’t want these.” Arthur frowns. “What, are you trying to buy me? I’m not Vivian Ward.”

“No, and I’m not Edward Lewis, and you’re much prettier than Julia Roberts,” Eames grins, trying to pass the box to Arthur. “Running is probably harder with your current trainers, and I want to help cherish your beautiful legs more.”

Arthur’s brow furrows and his frown deepens at the shoes before slamming the top back onto the box. “If this is this, and that is that, and we’re just friends, you better stop trying to buy me like one of your playthings.”

Eames’ jovial expression shutters briefly before another slides into place. “But darling, my playthings don’t care for running. They want things like fancy meals or jewelry,” he places the shoe box on the table and steps into Arthur’s space, “Or a nice snog or randy romp in the sheets.” He smirks and lets his fingers stroke along the outside seam of Arthur’s pants.

They stand together and Arthur tries to find it in him to shove Eames away, but Eames has fallen quiet again and his fingers draw absent figures against his thigh. The expression on his face is downward cast and Arthur is struck by how long Eames’ eyelashes are, how they graze his cheekbones. Eames looks up and holds Arthur’s gaze, taking in Arthur’s caramel almond eyes and how his wispy baby hairs catch in the air.

Their proximity throws Arthur back to yesterday. How close they were, together and touching and breathing. Eames’ hand has traveled up to his hip to tug him closer, and it’s a beacon of heat, stealing all of Arthur’s attention. It makes his mind run and heart race to imagine how yesterday could have gone. How it would have felt to have Eames’ lips elsewhere and all over. How Eames--

“Fine! I must be crazy but I’ll go along with whatever this convenience is,” Arthur sidesteps Eames to snag the package of pantyhose from the other bag on the table and slaps Eames on the nose with it, “And you better take responsibility for dragging me into this. Got it?”

Eames’ eyes widen and he smiles with realization of what Arthur is acquiescing. “Yes!”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Arthur feels his face flush, “So make yourself busy and eat something or whatever. There’s homemade bread pudding in the fridge.” Arthur all but runs away to the bathroom.

“Don’t mind if I do. Ah, and no pants, please! They’d look silly all bunched up under the pantyhose,” Eames calls after him.

“Go fuck yourself!” Arthur’s muffled voice shouts behind the bathroom door.

The water starts running.

By himself now, Eames scratches at his neck and shuffles his feet. It really was a line earlier; he’s never actually been to Arthur’s flat before. He’s surprised even himself that Arthur agreed. Though, he supposes Arthur’s never really offered and he’s never asked, and they’re both usually busy enough that there’s not much hanging out outside of school. Now that he’s alone, he feels like a garish intruder onto a no-nonsense territory. Nothing is out of place inasmuch as there aren’t enough things to be out of place; granted, Arthur is no doubt a stickler for tidiness. The kitchenette is clean and organized, surfaces wiped clean; his socks glide easily across the laminate flooring; a simple bookshelf holds a mix of well-worn classics and contemporaries, and medical texts; the far corner of the flat is home to an stately fiddle leaf fig; an empty clothesline is strung up outside on the balcony. The entire flat is the size of his foyer, and it’s alarming how so much of a person’s life can be so summarily contained in such a small space.

How does Arthur move in the space, Eames wonders, how does he go about his day. He wants to look into Arthur’s bedroom but can’t bring himself to try. 

It’s strange.

But it’s always been strange with Arthur.

His wanders into the kitchenette and his eyes hone in on a picture magnet on the refrigerator. It’s a photo of what is obviously Arthur’s family, in one of those cheesy mall portrait studios. They’re posed with the parents seated and the children flanking on both sides. The older Levines are clean and put together, holding hands; the father is broadly smiling, showing all his teeth, and the mother is demure with luscious hair. To her side is a frighteningly young Arthur and someone proportionally younger, who must be Sarah, who’s sporting rainbow braces; both are wearing glasses.

He tries not to think about how cozy they look. How carefree Arthur is, smiling and impish. Why he no longer is. 

Something tugs in him and he tries not to give in.

Instead, he opens the refrigerator door to snag a cup of banana pudding.

\---

Almost all the banana pudding is gone when the bathroom door opens. Residual steam billows out of as Arthur steps forward in a plain shirt, towel wrapped rigidly around his waist, and stockinged legs. His damp hair curls around his ears and sticks to his forehead.

“Come on. Hurry up,” he mumbles, hastily beelining to his bedroom. The seat clatters behind him as Eames hurriedly follows behind, pudding forgotten.

They enter Arthur’s room and the weight of the situation sinks in.

“Nothing but necessities. You really don’t bother with material things, do you?” Eames moves slowly around the space. He eyes an identical bookshelf holding only school books. A pair of clear frames sit on the bedside table. “Why don’t you wear your glasses more often?”

“They’re not particularly conducive to wear while running.” Arthur waddles onto his bed, one hand still gripping the towel and another pulling the curtain closed. “And I don’t need to when my things are my family’s things.”

“How interesting,” Eames sits at the foot of the bed, “Is that your family motto?”

“I really hate your rich person obnoxiousness,” Arthur mutters to himself. Still facing the now closed curtains, he gradually releases the towel and eases it down.

He’s instantly barrelled over by Eames tackling him to the bed, landing on his front.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you. You look positively lovely in thirty denier as well.” Eames’ coos, focus honing in on Arthur’s covered legs, fervently stroking. “The balance of durability and the soft elasticity of the high thread count complementing these firm muscles is truly the best.”

Arthur half buries his face into his pillow, tensing as Eames’ finger runs up the length of his legs as if testing for quality assurance.

Eames rubs his cheek against the back of Arthur’s thigh. “Hey, you should accept the trainers,” he whispers, “Running is a sport that doesn’t require any money, right? Let me keep it that way. I want you to have them.”

His hand traces the inner seam of the pantyhose upwards, grazing the stretch of material straining across Arthur’s bare ass. Feeling emboldened by a lack of argument, Eames allows his hand to cover one warm, round asscheek and firmly squeeze. The resulting separation and its usual reveal are covered by the opaque stretch of the pantyhose. Its implications send a slash of arousal through Eames. He inhales the damp, clean non-scent of Arthur’s soap and involuntarily seeks the muskier undertones, nosing at his hands and following the curve of Arthur’s--

“Wait, Eames, stop.” Arthur’s hand swings back to feebly swat at Eames’ head. “You’re touching my...”

“Ah, yes, apologies,” Eames pulls away and minutely shakes his head to clear the fog that gathered. “Almost got carried away there. I forgot we’re dealing with an extra bit that’s not usually there with the birds.” 

Arthur’s reply is muffled by the pillow and the overall lack of response gives Eames a moment to collect himself, noting his sizable bulge straining through his pants. He palms at himself and sharply inhales at the pleasure that zips through his body, but he restrains himself from grinding into his hand. Arthur’s legs shift and pulls Eames’ attention back to the taut body lying in front of him, so giving. He runs a hand under Arthur’s thigh and squeezes gently to flip Arthur onto his back before scooting into the v of Arthur’s legs, nudging them to spread wider.

“You’re the worst, you know?” Arthur stares determinedly off to the side, hair draping over his flushed face. His hands fist at his shirt in weak attempt to cover his crotch.

“I am well aware of that, darling.” Eames settles in closer behind Arthur’s ass, his thighs a hair's breadth away from meeting Arthur’s own, heat radiating off. “But it can’t be helped. Since I have this dastardly fetish,” he says, looming over Arthur, allowing a strange feeling to gather in his chest, “That’s why I’m taking responsibility.” He pries Arthur’s legs farther open in a swift motion and lifts Arthur’s right leg over his shoulder.

Arthur kicks out in response only to have Eames catch it and bring his foot to his lips, kissing the tips of his toes. “Correspondingly delicate toes,” he says, nosing down the bridge of Arthur’s arch.

Eames travels across his right leg, stubble catching. He takes another bite, but instead of letting go he clenches down ever so, eliciting a low moan from Arthur. Hearing Arthur’s breathy moan draws a low growl from Eames and he can’t help but to rock his straining bulge against the swell of Arthur’s ass, biting his tongue when he feels Arthur reflexively snap his hips.

The friction is so bloody good, Eames pushes his luck and rocks forward again. Arthur gasps and presses his shirt down more but arches into the pressure. They’re both hard and aching; denim against nylon. 

“You can touch yourself,” Eames says, breaking the silence, “I don’t mind at all.” He ducks his head down and huffs a warm breath over Arthur’s knuckles, delighting in seeing them strain against their hold on the shirt. He watches through his lashes as Arthur slowly releases and tentatively drifts his hands downwards, bottom lip cherry bitten.

Arthur breath quickens when his fingers broach the elastic band of the pantyhose and jolts when he brushes against his wet tip, a small whimper escaping the back of his throat. Arousal overwhelms Arthur and muscle memory takes over as he wraps his hand around his cock, a firm hold just the way he likes it, slightly slicked by his precum. He whimpers as his left hand drifts farther down to cup at his balls and he shudders at the sensation, legs involuntarily folding into each other. 

“Hey, now,” Eames’ gravelly voice cuts through Arthur’s haze and his hands split Arthur’s legs back apart to put on display, “Your legs need to stay here.” He returns to his ministrations, hands caressing and lips following close behind.

It’s almost an impossible task to separate the grey matter of the interaction in Arthur’s mind while he’s currently being overwhelmed by the simultaneous assault of Eames’s touches and his pleasurable ascent.

Eames noses at the base of Arthur’s cock through the pantyhose, the muskiness of Arthur’s desire seeping through makes his mouth water and he instinctively wets his lips. His tongue languishes outwards and drags against the mesh of the pantyhose, taking in the heat of Arthur’s pulsing cock. The way it jumps in response is intoxicating and Arthur’s heady whine spurs Eames on once more to draw his tongue against the underside of Arthur’s length, bumping into Arthur’s shaking fingers.

“Ah, Eames!” Arthur cries, legs quivering. His cock jumps and more precum escapes; he gathers it to slick over the crown, tightening his fist and jerking more fervently. The stretch of the pantyhose gives just enough resistance to restrict full strokes that it teases him deliciously to the edge.

Their bodies shift in sync, vibrating with the pressure building between them at their points of heated contact. Eames can feel the wave of pleasure rise from his toes and spill over his body, gradually drowning him in Arthur over and over again, him going willingly and without thought. His mind’s sole purpose is to sink through the panythose and into Arthur, seeking out the ways to--

“Hey, Arthur, my mom made some rhubarb compote for you and Sarah to try, so I put it in the fridge. I saw the pudding so I grabbed one. What are you--” Ariadne’s voice cuts into the room before her body follows behind the opening door. She shouts in surprise and freezes, hands holding said pudding and a spoon.

Arthur and Eames freeze.

Ariadne’s eyes grow wide and ricochet between the two boys.

“Get out, Ari!” Arthur’s voice is reedy and panicked.

“Sorry, should’ve knocked! Then again wasn’t expecting this so I don’t really think--”

“Ari!”

The door slams it sends the two flying apart. 

Arthur grabs the rumpled towel to cover himself, no longer hard but still aching.

Eames is comically ruffled with his hair askew and ruddy faced. He’s breathing hard and speechless, unable to make eye contact with Arthur.

“Well,” Arthur breaks the silence, clearing his throat, and winces at how hoarse he sounds, “Thank you… for taking responsibility… I guess.”

That snaps Eames out of his stupor, and he pushes his hair back. “Oh, of course. No skin off my teeth. Thank you, Arthur,” Eames overtly adjusts his trousers, still looking away, “I suppose I should head off now. I’ll see you at school on Monday.” He clears the room in two steps and leaves Arthur alone.

He hears Eames bid Ariadne a terse goodbye, and her own strangled response. He doesn’t know how many minutes pass before he collects himself enough to bunch off the pantyhose and bury it deep in his drawers, exchanging it out from underwear and sweatpants.

Steeling himself for the worst, he walks out into the living space. Ariadne is sitting at the dining table, slowly eating the pudding. Eames’ almost finished pudding is still on the table.

“So. You and Eames,” Ariadne says, cutting straight to the point, “When did this even start?" 

“Can we not?” Arthur sharply volleys back, embarrassment clearly underneath. He paces in front of the loveseat.

“Yeah, that bullshit isn’t going to work on me.” Ariadne sees through his guise and points an accusatory spoon at Arthur.

She’s right, he knows. Besides Sarah, Ariadne is the only person who sees right through Arthur.

(He resolutely does not think of Eames.)

“I literally just walked in on you and Eames in flagrante delicto! And now I’m going to take a wild guess and say that you’re realizing you’re bent… but it’s freaking you out even more that it’s being prompted by the fact that you like Eames?”

“Ari, we’ve all known I’ve been gay since I was twelve.” Arthur fists at his hair. “But Eames. No. I don’t like him. I mean, I do. Like him. I like him, but just as a friend. We established this was this and that was that.”

“Okay… I don’t even know what that means. But, just so we’re clear, if I asked you to, you’d wear pantyhose for me?”

“That’s not the point, Ari,” he cuts off the beginning of her rebuttal, “I’m just annoyed, is all. He bothered me at work. Bought me fucking running shoes. It’s ridiculous.” Arthur glares at the shoe box. “But regardless, it’s just a bit of harmless nonsense. He’s just using and touching my legs because it’s convenient… okay, that sounds weird. But this is also my fault. I didn’t refuse him… but also being treated like I’m convenient for him pisses me off. I mean, it’s not like--”

“Arthur. For someone who’s trying to draw a line, you sure like a man who wants to stop being friends with benefits,” Ariadne says, waving her spoon. Arthur throws himself onto the loveseat, groaning into his hands. “I don’t blame you. In fact, this doesn’t even surprise me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the pantyhose fetish thing is still throwing me for a wild fucking loop and I don’t want to think about it at all, not to mention I’m going to have to scrub my fucking eyeballs for days to get rid of whatever I just saw, though then again it is Eames so I’m not all that surprised. But anyways, I digress. The fact is that the two of you have always had a close relationship. Even starting when you came in at Year Nine.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Uh. I mean that besides me and Dom, Eames is your only other friend. And besides you, I don’t think Eames has any friends.” Ariadne gets up with the pudding.

Arthur sits up. “Are you kidding me? Eames has so many friends.”

“Like who?” she moves to sit by his side, “Like, I guess Dom and I hang out with him, but that’s only because of you. Otherwise, I doubt we would’ve approached one another.”

“What about his polo friends, or other people at school, or all the girls he dates. Other rich people,” Arthur trails off, trying to recall more concrete faces and names. 

“Yeah, I think you mean, his polo teammates, our classmates, one-night stands, and pricks who I know Eames and I’d both rather gouge out our eyes with spoons than consider friends,” Ariadne corrects, flopping over to throw her feet in Arthur’s lap in asking for a massage; her toes are electric blue. “You are literally the only person I think I’ve ever seen him purposefully seek out, and I’ve known him since primary.”

Arthur absentmindedly kneads at Ariadne’s feet as he mulls this over. “But--”

“I think most people by now acknowledge that you two are basically best mates,” she curses when she accidently drops some pudding on her shirt, “You might be telling yourself that you’re just going along with this fetish because it’s convenient or whatever, but what you really want is to have the best of both worlds.”

“I wouldn’t go that far…”

“You’re subconsciously trying to monopolize him, Arthur.” She cheekily grins, “I don’t blame you. Even I’ll concede that he’s got crazy blue eyes and an arse that won’t quit.”

Arthur presses particularly hard into Ariadne’s arch in retort and she yelps, kicking out. She glares at him and he snorts, resuming his massage.

"It’s funny to see you this way, to be honest, struggling a little. Or maybe I’m just glad?” Ariadne turns solemn as she scrapes at the bottom of the cup, “But I suppose I’m also a little jealous. Even though we’re just second cousins or whatever, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you express this kind of frustration over anything before. Not to me or Sarah or my mum or dad… even after your parents died and you lived with my family for that bit, you’ve always had everything under wraps.”

It stings how Ariadne can so skillfully pick him apart to the degree that he has no response because he knows she’s right.

“I have to admit though, you do look good in pantyhose,” she cackles.

“I swear to fucking God, Ari.” He grabs her feet and viciously tickles them, unrelenting even as she screeches and cries uncle.

It feels good to get back some control. 

\---

It was stupid the way Arthur’s parents died.

The Levines made their transatlantic move across the pond for his mother’s job when he was he was eleven, and it was smooth enough of a transition for everyone. His mom, Rachel, was getting paid more for her curatorial work with the national museum, so everyone was happy for her. His dad, Jon, was a freelance graphic designer, so it didn’t matter where he was in the world. Sarah had already graduated and was working at a clinic in New York City at the time, so she wasn’t affected. Arthur can’t say he had any friends to miss or places he was attached to, so that was easy enough on him.

And they settled in with similar ease. The first exhibition his mom curated was a hit. His dad found all the best restaurants and ice cream shops in the first week. Their new home was a tidy brownstone on a friendly street, with a park nearby where he and his dad did their morning runs together. 

(Sure, Arthur had to fend off a few schoolyard bullies because he was the twiggy American who was too smart for his own good, but it was easy enough to outrun them.)

It was nice, too, because his mom’s cousin, Martha, lived a few hours away by train with husband and daughter, and they had been close growing up so she was happy to be close to some family. Sometimes on weekends they’d train over to see Martha and hang out in her big house, and his mom and Martha would chat, and his dad and Martha’s husband, Colin, would grill. It was even better when Arthur met Ariadne and found out they were the same age, and that she was more than happy to hang out with Arthur because she didn’t have any siblings and he made her laugh.

(Arthur later learned Ariadne didn’t have any siblings because she was conceived through IVF, and while Martha and Colin had the money to pay for seven other attempts, it never took again.

Arthur was happy to be Ariadne’s sibling even if they’re technically only second cousins.)

Then one weekend, after they’d finally bought a car when Arthur was fourteen, they drove to the Johnsons’ house with the windows down. They had a car back in the States but had to leave for obvious reasons, and while they didn’t really need it, his parents missed the freedom hence the purchase. It was funny watching his parents singing along to the radio again while getting used to driving on the other side of the road.

It was routine now for Arthur to find Ariadne immediately upon arrival and leave his parents with her’s to do their adult things. That day Ariadne had dragged him to her room to show off her new gaming system, and they spent the rest of the afternoon playing games. It was raining by the time they emerged for dinner.

Martha was cooking dinner while Colin sat at the island sneaking bites.

“What’s for dinner, mum?” Ariadne goes to the cabinets to grab plates and Arthur the utensils.

“Beef welly, mash and roasted veg, your favorite,” she smiled, checking on the wellington with some tongs.

“Where did my parents go?” Arthur asks, following behind Ariadne as she sets the table. Some thunder rolled outside.

Colin snuck one last bite before Martha smacked his knuckles with the tongs. “They went to go get some wine and dessert.”

“Because someone forgot to,” Martha glowered at her husband. Ariadne snickered.

“Hey, I was all up for going to Tesco,” Colin raised his hands in defense, “But they wanted to go!”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Yeah, they’re just excited about driving the new car.”

Martha similarly rolled her eyes, “Well, they should be back soon. I told them to get the mint Cornettos.”

Arthur set the last fork down when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it, it’s probably them.” He darted to the front door.

He opened the front door and flinched when raindrops hit him.

It wasn’t his parents; it was a police family liaison officer.

Rachel and Jon were on their way back from Tesco when they accidentally turned onto the wrong side of the road. Fortunately, there wasn’t any oncoming traffic but the rain slicked the roads enough that the tires skid and took the car off a curb to ram them into a tree. They died instantly on impact.

Arthur didn’t stay around to hear anything past the fact that they drove on the wrong side of the road. It was probably his dad driving because his mom had drove in the morning; she liked driving long distances, whereas his dad got tunnel vision. He could imagine how the rain came down hard enough that it was difficult to see, wipers swiping on the highest speed. His parents probably realized the second they turned onto the wrong side. He can picture his dad grumbling at his mistake and his mom giggling at him, teasing about being the better driver because she really was.

(He’s never been in a car accident before but he knows how it feels when the seat belt bites into your chest when you jerk forward without giving up enough slack so the pretensioner doesn’t catch.)

So he ran.

Pushed past the officer and ran barefooted down the street, pelted by the rain. 

It was Ariadne who chased after him and ran with him in the rain for three more blocks before bringing him back.

Sarah cries over the phone when Martha calls her, her loud sobs carrying across the ocean. She arrives the next day and Arthur can’t bring himself to get into the car to go pick her up from the airport.

It’s a private funeral with colleagues and friends.

They all agree that it’s best for Sarah to move to Arthur rather than the reverse. It takes a year and a half for Sarah’s paperwork to go through the all the bureaucracy before she can transfer clinics and move, during which Arthur lives with the Johnsons.

Colin is a high-level barrister and is able to help insure that Sarah gains full custody of Arthur without trouble first thing. The university that Martha is dean at helps pulls some strings at Ariadne’s posh public school to get them to accept Arthur mid-Year Nine and on scholarship, though it helps that Arthur’s intelligent and his parents died in a tragic (stupid) accident. Ariadne is by his side through it all.

By his sixteenth birthday, they’ve moved into their current apartment, three stops over from the Johnsons.

\---

That same year Arthur and Eames meet on a brisk November morning.

Eames is laying on the roof, polo gear to the side, eyes closed. Hair blowing in the wind.

“Can I join you?”

Eames startles and sees someone he’s never seen before. The interloper is gangly and neatly dressed. His hair curls above his ears.

“You’re new.”

The stranger’s brows furrow. “Is that a no?”

“By all means. It’s a free space.” Eames motions to the roof. “How did you get up here, anyways?”

“I was in the headmaster’s office but then I wandered around and saw the staircase.

“So you are new.”

“Yeah, I’ve just been accepted.”

“On scholarship?”

“How’d you know?”

“Well, for one, you’re American, which would mean you’re an international student, but then if you were, that’d mean daddy had the money to pay for tuition so you wouldn’t be here on scholarship. Not to mention, if you were an international student, daddy and mummy would’ve set you straight and started you here at least Year Seven like any posh lad. But here you are on scholarship and you’re a tad old to be in Year Seven. And the term’s already started and they never accept anyone midterm, so I’m even more impressed because that just means you’re smart enough to actually be here.

“That was some impressive deduction.”

Eames preens. “Well, I’d hate to be a stereotypical posh dunce. Granted, the entire school’s been talking about a new arrival for weeks, and Ariadne’s been threatening to fight anyone who messes with her second cousin. Arthur.”

(In fact, the entire school, faculty included, have been abuzz about Arthur Levine and the tragic story of how his parents died.

Tragic, yes, Eames would agree, but dying on the way home from Tesco? A rather unfortunate way to go, not that he would ever say aloud, and certainly not to the son of said unfortunance.)

Arthur blushes something interesting and tries to tuck his hair behind his ear to no avail. “Sorry if you’ve been threatened.”

“No matter. I’ve been curious to see what kind of second cousin you are that her majesty Ariadne Johnsons is so protective of. Especially since we’re classmates by the way,” he extends a hand to Arthur, who takes it, “I’m Eames.”

“Well, you already know I’m Arthur,” he takes a seat by Eames.

“Well, lovely to meet your acquaintance, Arthur.”

Arthur looks around the roof. “What are you doing up here, anyways?”

“I’m taking a break from polo practice.”

“Where’s your horse?”

“Well, Arthur, I’m afraid I couldn’t exactly persuade her to climb the stairs so she had to stay on the grounds.”

Arthur pauses. “Are you serious?”

“What? No, my horse can’t climb the stairs.”

“No, I mean, there are horses here?”

“Yes, I thought that was obvious since I brought it up.”

“Oh. I thought you were joking.”

“How else can you play polo if you don’t have horses? Besides, didn’t you read the informational packet? It is one of the extracurriculars here. Are you sure you’re prepared to start at this posh school?”

“Well, my parents practically died in cause for it so, yeah, I suppose I’m prepared.”

He says it so nonchalantly Eames would’ve thought Arthur was talking about the weather and not his parents who died only a few months ago.

“Uh.”

Arthur grimaces. “Sorry, my therapist suggested I try accepting the reality of my parents’ death by integrating it more into everyday conversations, but I’ve only ever managed to be awkward about it. Like now,” he gets up to go, “Sorry for making this so weird. I’ll leave.”

“No, it’s fine,” Eames sits up to reach out and stop Arthur, “Just had to take a moment there to recalibrate.”

They sit in silence for a bit.

“I just didn’t care for any of the extracurriculars they have here,” Arthur starts up.

“Well, unless you’re suffice with phys ed and running around the blimey track for the whole period, you’d better start caring.”

“That’s fine. I like running.”

“Seriously? Goodness, you really are a scholarship student.”

“And why don’t you get off your stupid high horse?”

“Ha, and you see that’s funny because you ride a horse to play polo.”

“Shut up. Running takes finesse.”

“Yes, whatever you say.”

“And it doesn’t cost any extra money.”

“Fair. Mum made dad get me the most expensive saddle.”

“You rich people are ridiculous.”

(The roof manages to become their shared space for the rest of secondary school.)

\---

The next morning Arthur texts Eames to meet him at the benches outside of the mall after Eames gets out of his weekly tutorial. He arrives twenty minutes before schedule to find Eames already waiting, two iced coffees by his side. One is almost empty; the other has an unnecessary but knowing amount of whipped cream piled on top, just like Eames knows Arthur orders it.

Eames spots him and tenses, but manages to assume his neutral, smiling expression.

“You decided not to wear the trainers?” he motions to Arthur’s feet.

“I’m not going to wear running shoes when I’m not running, Eames.”

“But you’re still going to keep them, then?”

Arthur thinks of how he hid the box under his bed before Sarah got home last night. Knowing he should have brought them with him to give back but instead pretending he just forgot to grab them before he left.

“I can’t,” Arthur doesn’t look at Eames, “I can’t do this anymore.” He takes a sip of the sugary, overpriced coffee and lets the caffeine wash over him. 

“Are you angry about yesterday?” Eames asks softly.

“I have no right to be angry. I’m also partly responsible for this all since I accepted,” Arthur picks at the wet coffee sleeve, “It’s just that if it hadn’t been Ari who saw us, and if it were Sarah...I’d probably have killed you and then myself.”

Eames chuckles, ice hitting each other as Eames moves to elbow Arthur, “I think you’re being a tad dramatic, Arthur.”

“No, Eames, I’m not,” Arthur avoids Eames’ jab, voice frigid, “I’m not going to cause any trouble for Sarah. Ever.”

Eames stills, expression shuttering again.

“All right then, how about my home? There’s nobody ever home anyways. No risk.”

“That’s not what I’m even talking about, and you know it. Just tell me you understand and we’ll leave it at that.” All the whipped cream has melted into the coffee.

He glances up to catch a complicated look cross Eames’ face before it settles. Eames doesn’t say anything but he nods at Arthur.

There it was done.

Arthur lets out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding. What do they do now? Do they just go back to the way things were only just three days ago?

Eames cuts through his jumbled thoughts with an exaggerated sigh as he leans back on the bench. “So do you think I’m an inconsiderate arsehole who tries to be considerate by not thinking about anyone’s feelings?”

“Are you seriously making this about you?” Arthur blinks incredulously at Eames.

“No, no I get what you said. I’m moving on,” he waves a hand in a fashion as if he’s dusting away the past ten minutes, “I’m not making this about me. I’m moving onto to the next subject,” Eames grins and sucks up the rest of his coffee. Arthur looks away. “That’s just what a girl told me today after I told her I didn’t want to meet up anymore because I found the perfect legs.”

“It’s like you’re not even listening,” Arthur mutters. He’s aware that Eames is offering to revert back to their old bantering way; he takes it. “Eames, that’s not how you break up with someone.”

“I know,” Eames rattles his cup, “It’s just that people usually just want to be with me because of the money, which is fine because it’s not like I’m lacking any of it. But I get it. I’m the fucked up one with the pantyhose fetish.” His tone is droll.

“What? Eames, now you’re just--”

“That’s why I’m doing everything else perfectly. Grades, tutorials, extracurriculars, mum’s socials, father’s meetings. Graduation’ll come and go, and then it’s uni for another round, and then I’m taking over the family business. And I’ll need to perform so impeccably that nobody will be able to complain. So I get it. Not wanting to cause any trouble.” The plastic crinkles in his grip.

“Eames.” Arthur begins to fret.

“It’s all right. You know what? You’re right. I like us better like this after all. As normal friends as you say,” Eames grins but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “So looks like I won’t be making you go along with my hobby anymore.”

Something in Arthur clenches. “Are you really going to be able to hold back?” he tries a joke to ease his discomfort.

“Well, I don’t know if I’ll ever meet anyone with legs as beautiful as yours, but I won’t be causing any inconvenience for the ladies if I go back to ignoring them!”

The finality of the moment is awkward at best, but it’s the most of what either of them can do right now.

So Arthur gives. He scoffs and elbows Eames’ side.

Eames gives him a half-smile and it’s worked.

“All right, then. If that’s settled, I’m off. See you tomorrow at school,” Eames says, standing up and stretching, tossing the coffee cup into the trash.

“Yeah, I’ll see you.” Arthur takes a sip of his watered down coffee.

Eames takes a step away only to suddenly turn and crouch at Arthur’s feet, surprising Arthur into dropping his cup onto the ground. Neither of them go to pick it up.

Eames drops his forehead to Arthur’s denim thigh and a familiar huff of warm breath seeps into the fabric. A hand slips under the hem of Arthur’s jeans and briefly caresses his ankle.

“Keep the trainers,” he says, lightly kissing Arthur’s knee, “I threw away the receipt.” He gets up and pats off his knees, turning to walk away.

Arthur watches the remains of his spilled coffee run across the pavement.

\---

As a byproduct of being friends with Arthur, which is fortunate or unfortunate depending who you ask, it’s become routine now for Arthur, Ariadne, and Dom to run together at night, clocking at least seven to ten miles once a week.

It’s a system that works in Arthur’s favor because he gets to run, be with Ariadne and Dom, and usually no one talks because they’re trying to focus on breathing.

However, their current run is unfortunately punctuated with talk about Arthur, seeing as how Ariadne couldn’t manage to keep her mouth shut and let slip that she caught Arthur and Eames in a compromising position.

“Wait, so you and Eames are finally dating?” Dom asks when they come to a stop, bracing his hands on his knees. “It’s about time if you ask me.”

“What? No. We’re not dating.” Arthur leans over the water fountain to take a drink.

“He wants them to be though.” Ariadne taunts from where she’s stretching a leg.

Arthur tightens his ponytail. “What? No, Ari, shut up.”

“So you are or aren’t dating Eames?” Dom joins Ariadne to stretch.

“What about you and Mal?”

Two can play that game.

Dom blushes. “Way to change the subject.”

“Oh, you found out?” Ari makes Arthur pull her into a partner backbend.

“What do you mean I found out? How did you find out? Dom, you told her but not me?” Arthur leans extra forward to spite Ariadne.

She kicks at Arthur. “No, he didn’t. Dom has just been noticeably absent from study hall because he’s been feeling ‘sick’, and I put two and two together.”

Dom sighs, “She caught us kissing.”

Arthur drops Ariadne. “Dom! What if wasn’t Ari? You could be suspended. Mal could be fired. She could arrested!”

“Calm down, Arthur. I’m legal and she’s only eleven years older.” Dom begins running again, and the other two follow. They turn and run alongside the river.

“She almost Sarah’s age!”

Dom speeds up. “Yeah, I’d rather not think about Sarah and Mal in the same group. Thanks ever so. Besides weren’t we talking about you and Eames?”

“Yeah, back to you and Eames,” Ariadne hip-checks Arthur, “Any update?”

Arthur tries not to let his expression sour, but they catch it.

Dom frowns, “You’re really not together?”

“No. We’re not. We’re just friends.”

“He bought you those shoes though, didn’t he?” Dom looks pointedly at his feet.

He’s wearing the new running shoes.

Arthur doesn’t really know what made him pull them out from under his bed.

(They really do make a difference in his running.

They’re a light, breathable, and a simple black.)

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I’m not the only one who can put two and two, Arthur,” Dom rolls his eyes, “They’re new for one. And I saw them on display the other day and you’d never buy the new release of anything.”

“I thought you don’t accept gifts?” Ariadne glares pointedly at Arthur.

“It’s complicated.”

Dom’s phone rings and they come to a halt. “Oh, speak of the devil,” he picks up despite Arthur’s protest, “Hey Eames… Arthur? Yeah, he’s next to me… We were on a run… Okay, yeah… Sounds good. I’ll make him go. Bye.” Dom slips his phone back into his pocket.

“What’re talking about?”

“Eames says he’s at that one karaoke bar at the station by himself waiting for you, which is pretty sad if you ask me, so I told him you’d go.”

“You can’t make that decision for me.” Arthur balks.

“He just did! And I support it. Go.” Ari smacks Arthur on the shoulder.

“No. Nope. I told Sarah I’d grab her some ice-cream after our run, so she’s probably waiting for me now.”

“She’s not going to die if you’re not there with ice-cream,” Dom shoves Arthur, “Go.”

Both he and Ariadne give him unimpressed looks when he hesitates and considers bolting.

“Otherwise, we’ll tell Sarah you accepted shoes from Eames,” Ariadne smugly crosses her arms, knowing she’s won. “We’ll take care of the ice-cream.”

Arthur flexes his toes in the running shoes, feeling them conform to his movement.

“Fine.”

And with that he takes off running towards the direction of the station, hearing Ariadne obnoxiously cheer him on and Dom chide her for being so loud.

He has no idea why Eames wants him and what he’s going to do when he gets there, but he focuses on his feet hitting the pavement and breathing through his nose.

The streets are congested with people who are out enjoying their Saturday night, shopping and hanging out.

(A couple makes out on a bench and Arthur sprints past them.)

He’s so caught up in his pace that he would’ve blazed past the karaoke bar if not for the blinding neon signs designating it as such. Of course Eames would pick the flashiest place on the strip.

Following behind a group of other teens, Arthur ducks into the bar. He’s definitely out of place so he quickly peeks into every room, making his way through larger and larger rooms until he finds Eames in a party-sized karaoke room singing the end of ‘Hey Jude.’

Eames’ back is facing him when he slips in, but the sliver of light that cuts into the room makes his entrance known.

“You know they have single person karaoke rooms, right?” Arthur says from against the wall when the song finishes.

Eames spins around with a giant grin on his face. “I know, but I wanted the space.” His face glows a bright red in the dark and Arthur spots three empty pints on the table.

“And because you could.”

“And because I could.” Eames is flipping through the song binder. “What song should I sing next? Do you want to give it a go?”

“If you called me here just to have a singing partner, I’m leaving,” Arthur says, taking a seat on a couch.

“No that’s not it,” he looks up and spots the shoes. “You’re wearing the trainers! They look smashing. And you tell me I don’t have a good eye.”

“If you make a fuss about it, I’m going to take them off and give them back.”

“Okay, okay. Anyways, I have an important announcement to make,” he punches in the code for the next song, “Today I skipped tutorials. Here take the other mic.” He passes a second mic to Arthur, who almost drops it.

“Wait, what? Are you serious? Are you parents going to get mad?”

“Who knows?” Eames shrugs, “Maybe it’s my late rebellious stage flaring? It’s been fun, all things considered.”

A new song starts up and Arthur doesn’t know what it is.

“I wanted an accomplice, and you’re the one I thought of,” Eames smiles at Arthur and it’s a true smile and it makes something warm bloom in Arthur’s chest.

“You’re always full of such nonsense. Such a carefree rich boy.” Arthur jokes, gripping the mic.

“But you’re the one who’s come to join me, after all.” Eames laughs and spins the mic in hand. “Surrounding yourself with me and my nonsense, carefree, posh, rich boyness. Must mean you like that about me, right?”

The song is forgotten and they’re just reclining against the couch, while a disco ball lamp spits colors erratically across the room.

“In fact, lest we forget. You were the one who talked to me first after all.” Eames smiles at Arthur, crooked bottom teeth peeking out.

Arthur blushes and brings the mic to his mouth to have something to do.

Eames’ phone pings and he looks at a text, chuckling and tossing his mic aside.

“Is that Dom?”

“No, just a bird,” Eames waves a tipsy hand.

“Did you already find someone new?” Something dark unfurls in Arthur’s chest.

“Yeah. There’s a girl I spotted with legs comparable to yours so I had to bite.” Eames doesn’t look up from his phone, fingers tapping away. The light dances across his face, highlighting his stubble.

Arthur reaches down to unlace a shoe. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

The song reaches the chorus.

He knocks Eames’ phone out of his hands and puts his foot in Eames’ lap.

“What the fuck--”

“Don’t move.” Arthur presses his foot against the grain of Eames’ zipper, rocking back and forth. He begins to build a rhythm and Eames’ shaky hand reaches to grab Arthur’s thigh, squeezing.

“Arthur…” Eames’ face flushes even more and he moans, slumping down the couch, hand sliding down Arthur’s thigh. Arthur’s heel catches in the dip of Eames’ thigh and he grinds downwards. “Fuck…”

The song reaches its crescendo and Arthur snaps back, snatching his foot away. He throws the mic at Eames, startling him.

“Just kidding.” Arthur croaks.

Eames palms his face and exhales loudly. “Arthur, give me a break.”

Arthur falls to the side and waves his foot near Eames. “Does my foot smell after my run?”

Swatting Arthur’s foot away, Eames slumps forward and wraps his arms around his knees. “Yes. And if you’d been wearing the pantyhose I’d probably have come from that.”

With another exhale, Eames sits up, fake smirk in place. “You’re too cruel, pet, too cruel. I’m trying really hard to forget about your legs, so if you could think about my feelings for a bit, thanks ever so.”

A sharp pain cuts through Arthur. “Your feelings?” he snaps, though somewhere in his mind he understands how petulant he sounds. He stands, shoves his foot back into his shoe and grabs the room phone and flips through the menu next to it. “Hi, excuse me… Yes. I’d like to order the large pepperoni and pineapple pizza, spicy buffalo wings, large side of chips, and the cheapest ale you have on tap.” He hangs up, bending over to lace up his shoe.

“Are you that hungry after your run? Can you eat all of that?” Eames polishes off a pint.

“No, you are,” Arthur opens the door, “I’m leaving.”

“What?” Eames stumbles out the door. “You’re joking, right? You’re coming back to eat this, right?”

Arthur bolts.

\---

When Arthur arrives back home, he’s greeted by very noisy, very drunk people and he fights a growing headache. Sarah and Ariadne are sprawling across the loveseat, guffawing at each other, and Dom is on the ground at the coffee table, nursing a beer, looking morose. Music is playing out of someone’s phone and Arthur’s just glad it’s not karaoke.

“What happened to just ice-cream?” he toes off his shoes and is careful to hide them under the shoe rack. The three offenders giggle loudly in reply like there’s an inside joke he’s not in on.

“All done!” Ariadne presents her empty container of mint chocolate chip. “We had an ice-cream party!”

Arthur pinches at the bridge of his nose, head beginning to throb. “I can tell.” He gathers the empty containers to throw away in the kitchenette, grabbing the water pitcher to bring back.

Sarah bends backwards over the loveseat to look at him. “Arthur, did you know Dom has been canoodling with your school nurse?” she drunkenly whispers from behind her hand.

“Yes, Sarah,” he says patiently.

Ariadne pops up. “But she’s leaving him!” she cries forlornly, face blotchy.

“What?” Arthur turns his attention onto Dom, who looks even more morose if possible, “You didn’t say that earlier.”

Dom sighs dejectedly, taking a long swing of his beer to finish it. “Yep. She told me she’s quitting. Apparently, she’s been planning on quitting for a while now and going back to France to be with her parents.” He topples backwards and the bottle rolls over.

“So we decided to drink away the pains!” Ariadne slurs. “Sarah’s idea.” Of course it was.

“You’re an awful influence, Sarah. If anyone vomits, you’re cleaning it up.”

“Aw, don’t be so _uptight_ , Arthur,” Sarah paws at Arthur, “Join us!”

“Fine,” he snaps, pushing his sister away, “I will.”

He folds himself at the coffee table and pours a generous shot of what tastes like cheap vodka, and chases it with another.

Somewhere in the back of his head, as he downs another, he knows he must have finally lost it.

Sarah and Ariadne watch him in amazement as he pours another, and they scramble to fill three more, smacking Dom to get him up.

Arthur imagines how the four of them must look: he, Ari, and Dom are still in sweaty running clothes; Sarah’s in her scrubs; the other three are blasted and he is well on his way to follow; and they all look ridiculous surrounding a coffee table holding plastic shot glasses.

“All right! Let’s do this!” Ariadne cheers.

And they cheer, knocking their glasses together but mostly their hands, spilling vodka, before knocking them back.

“Okay, on second thought, I’m going to grab some towels as a precaution,” Arthur wobbles to his feet.

Sarah snags him before he can stand. “Oh no you don’t. Sit down and take another shot. One of you call Eames. We’re throwing a banger!” She pumps a fist in triumph.

“Wait, why Eames?” Arthur’s voice lurches, and Ariadne and Dom look to him clearly remembering where he’d come from.

Sarah cackles. “Because we’re throwing a banger and I know the only other friend of yours who isn’t here is Eames,” Sarah grins, pulling Arthur in close, “Ari, call Eames!”

\---

Walking up to the Levine’s flat is somehow more daunting in the nighttime. Their average, unassuming door now a presage for what it opens up to. Nevertheless, he straightens and brings a stiff arm up to knock and wait.

A rapid fire smattering of footsteps is the only warning he gets before the door bursts open and Ariadne beams in salutation.

“Eames, you’re late!” she squawks, tripping and falling into his arms, which are already holding bags.

He grunts on impact and pulls her into the apartment where he’s greeted by the rather sad leftovers of Bacchanalia.

Sarah and Dom are passed out on the loveseat and ground, respectively, with towels thrown over them. Arthur is quietly seated at the coffee table, pouring himself a glass of water from a pitcher.

“Seems like the party’s already over,” Eames says, depositing Ariadne on the ground.

Arthur chugs the glass of water and pours one for Ariadne. “Sarah was being too much of an enabler, so I pulled out the red to knock her out early. And it turns out Dom is just a lightweight.”

“We’re drinking away our sorrows, Eames!” Water sloshes out of Ariadne’s cup.

“And how’s that going?” he takes a seat next to Arthur, who stiffens, dropping two plastic bags on the table. “Here Ari, I brought some food from the karaoke bar.”

Arthur blushes.

“Yes! Food!” She pulls out the first box revealing chips and instantly goes to town stuffing her face.

“Ari, you shouldn’t eat after ten,” Arthur admonishes, “It’s bad for digestion.”

“But…” Ariadne protests, eating another bundle.

“You’re going to get a stomach ache.”

“Fine!” she sneaks another in, “I’m going to bed then. Sarah said I could sleep in her room. Eames, will you carry me?” Ariadne rubs her hands against her shirt and makes grabbing hands at Eames, who graciously turns his back and squats, allowing her to slump over his back.

“I’ll be back after dumping this one.” Eames winks out of habit before quickly turning on his heel, towing Ariadne away into Sarah’s room.

Flicking on the light, Eames sees the room is relatively more decorated than Arthur’s, but not by much. A few steps and he’s able to lean over and slide Ariadne into bed, tucking her in.

Turning to leave, Eames is stopped by Ariadne grabbing at the hem of his shirt.

“Hey, Eames?” Ariadne snuffles into the pillow.

“Yes?”

“Arthur may be my grumpy second cousin but he’s my only and favorite grumpy second cousin. So just be kind to him, okay?” she releases his shirt and drifts off.

Eames takes care to slip her arm under the sheets. “Yeah, I will,” he whispers, watching her fall asleep, “He’s my favorite, too.”

He turns off the light and closes the door.

Walking out into the living space, Sarah and Dom are softly snoring. The food and water has been put away and Arthur is nowhere to be seen.

The door to Arthur’s bedroom is slightly ajar so Eames slowly makes his way over to say goodnight.

Eames peeks his head in the doorway. “Hey, Arthur, I’m going to head on out--”

The room is dark and if it weren’t for the crack of light from the living space bleeding into the room Eames would’ve just assumed Arthur was already in bed. But as it is, Eames is so used to seeking out Arthur’s lithe figure, the spare bit of light is enough for him to latch onto the elegant planes of Arthur’s backside. He’s shirtless, and for all intents and purposes naked save for pantyhose.

Eames can’t bring himself to leave but he also won’t pinch himself in case this really is a dream.

The lush curve of Arthur’s ass slopes into the toned meat of his thighs, catching the soft glow of the light. He has a leg propped onto his bed, adjusting the pantyhose, and the defined flex of his calf makes Eames’ mouth water. The black translucency of the material shines and gives Arthur an otherworldly glow.

A shiver runs through Eames’ body and the blood runs to his cock.

“What are you doing standing over there?” Arthur calls over his shoulder, moving to sit. The bed creaks gently under his weight. The outside light casts a halo around Arthur’s loose hair and runs down his chest. His body is loose and open in a devastating siren call that pulls Eames in.

Eames softly shuts the door and the room falls dark, save for the light coming in from the window. He softly pads over to Arthur’s beside, stopping in front of him, eyes hooded and dilated. He feels his cock strain through his zipper. “What are you doing? I thought we were stopping this--”

Arthur smoothly lifts his leg to boldly stroke down Eames’ bulge with his foot. Eames gasps in surprise and kneels over, tightly holding Arthur’s ankle in his grip. Neither really know whether Arthur’s foot remains flush against the underside of Eames’ balls because of Arthur’s bold insistence or Eames’ keeping his foot in place; nor do they care.

“How does that feel?” Arthur whispers, wiggling his toes.

Eames shudders as he gives a deep exhale. “Good.”

“Do you want to make it feel better?”

Eames doesn’t respond, instead fumbling to unbuckle his belt and unzip the front of his trousers. Both of Arthur’s feet move up to paw at where Eames is straining through his pants. Stroking up and down, imitating the rhythm from earlier in the night. Eames’ cock grows harder and harder, jerking with every stroke. He grips at Arthur’s knee, stubble catching again. His cock peeks out over his pants and Arthur’s feet catch it, rubbing over its wet head, teasing at his foreskin. Eames moans low and deep.

“Arthur, stop, you can’t--”

One foot tugs down at Eames’ pants and the other braces flat against his thigh. Eames wordlessly shifts, wiggling his trousers down his hips, giving Arthur more access to relentlessly stroke. His cock springs forward and bobs against Arthur’s foot. The soft thatch of hair nestled at the base of Eames’ cock pricks through the pantyhose and Arthur squeezes his toes together and pinches.

“Please, Arthur…”

Eames drops his cheek to Arthur’s thigh, hands already there in a vice grip, lost in the overwhelming sensation of Arthur caressing up and down his cock. The sensation of the pantyhose material’s fine mesh rubbing against his hot length, the fine juts of Arthur’s bones moving against his flesh. Eames ruts against Arthur’s cupped feet, panting wetly.

Arthur’s nipples have pebbled, his own cock straining in the pantyhose. But Eames is no less aware, caught too deeply in the throes of his own pleasure. His muscular back hunched over and trembling. Eames’ hair is mussed beyond repair and Arthur can’t help but reach out and run his fingers through it. Eames moans in response, head butting against Arthur’s hand, his own hands tightening around Arthur’s thigh. Arthur grinds his foot into the crown of Eames’ cock.

“Stop it, Arthur, I’m--” Eames’ mouth bites down on Arthur’s thigh in a vicious clench to stifle his moan and he bows forward, bracing his hands against the bed as his hips helplessly jerk. His cock pulses and cum spills onto Arthur’s foot, warm and catching in the fine mesh.

Arthur slowly detangles his fingers from Eames’ hair and pulls his foot away, thigh pulsing. A trail of cum strings along from his foot to Eames’ spent cock..

The room is silent save for their labored breathing.

Eames’ shoulders tense and runs a hand over his face before raising his head to glare at Arthur. His face is illuminated with rage by the outside light. “Why do you keep doing this? We can’t be ‘normal friends’ if you keep doing this. I thought you were the one who wanted to avoid all of this?” His voice is a tense rasp.

“You’re the one who started this!”

Eames hastily pushes his spent cock into his pants and does up his trousers, turning away from Arthur. “That’s why I said we should stop. Because if we continue this, you’ll--”

“I’ll what? Am I so uptight that you thought I wouldn’t notice my own feelings? That you wouldn’t notice them either?” Arthur fists his bedsheets. “How you use people as fetish fodder and then once they start falling for you, you just pretend not to notice and play the inconsiderate asshole card!” He shoves at Eames’ backside with his foot and Eames falls to the ground. “You really are an asshole! You’re the one who wanted to start this, you’re the one who wanted to stop, and you’re the one who takes the blame because you just want to come out on top and unscathed, like the impeccable good guy.”

“All right, if that’s how this is,” Eames gets to his feet and turns on Arthur, looming over him. “You think you’re the only one who has troubles or feelings? I care about this as well, in case you refuse to notice. But no, I’m just the carefree, posh kid who’s inconsiderate to everybody. Well guess what, you have no idea about my worries--”

Arthur scoffs, “Please, as if taking over a cushy business is any heartache--”

“This is exactly what I mean! Clearly, me having worries is troublesome for you because then you can’t complain about it and make fun of me!” Eames’ arms are stiff by his side, “You don’t get to decide how big or small other people’s problems are, Arthur. Don’t use me as a scapegoat to run away from your own emptiness.”

Arthur freezes like a knife plunged through him.

“My emptiness?” his voice cracks, “Is that what you think of me?”

“It’s what I thought from the moment you first talked to me.” Eames twists the knife.

The outside light is no longer a soft illumination but a damning glare.

“All right then. You’re right. Leave.”

Eames says nothing more and goes, opening the door and letting in a flood of light.

The blood pounds so loud in Arthur’s ears he almost doesn’t hear the sound of the front door opening and closing. He can feel Eames’ cum drying on his foot and how the pantyhose stiffens. He doesn’t know how long he sits immobile, eyes focused on the red ring on his thigh standing out from under the pantyhose. He tastes the salt of his tears before he realizes he’s crying, and the realization only makes him curl into himself and cry harder.

A gentle hand rouses him from his haze and he looks up to see Sarah kneeling over him, hair in a tangle and eyes wide. The sight of his sister’s worry threatens to bring another deluge of tears and he crawls into her arms.

“Arthur, what’s wrong? Talk to me,” she asks, rocking them back and forth. Her warm hands rub reassuring circles on his back.

He hiccups and pulls at his hair. “Sarah… I fucked up.”

“What happened?”

Tears well up. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, Arthur.” Sarah whispers, coaxing his hands from the clutch he has on his hair. “Talk to me. Please.”

So he does. He recalls and replays every second of every moment from the last seventy-two hours; spilling everything for another two hours.

Sarah holds him and listens, never stopping her rocking until Arthur stops his shaking.

They sit in silence as Sarah takes in everything Arthur has just divulged, her hands still rubbing slow circles.

“What do I do, Sarah?” His swollen, red-rimmed eyes hesitantly find her eyes, scared of what she’ll say. “I… I really… I really love Eames.”

She looks down at him with kindness and pity. “Oh, Arthur. What’s with that face? Do you think I’m going to throw you out or some nonsense? You dummy, you are my one and only little brother,” Sarah tucks his head under her chin, eyes watering, “I bet mom and dad are laughing down at us because you’re finally starting to cause me trouble.”

\---

Sarah stands at the head of the dining table to survey her work. Smiling to herself, she takes in a deep breath. “Wake the hell up, you punks!” she yells, voice carrying throughout the apartment. “I made breakfast!”

Dom startles awake, hair askew.

The door to Sarah’s bedroom slowly cracks open. “I don’t want to eat,” Ariadne moans. “My stomach hurts.”

“Come on, shake it off, take a shower.”

Arthur hesitantly steps out of his room.

“Do you have to shout, Sarah. My head is killing me.” Dom burrows under the towel.

“No can do, punks. If I was incapacitated every time I drank away my pains, I’d still be sixteen!” she chhortles, “So come and eat the breakfast I lovingly made for you all, you ungrateful punks.”

Ariadne stumbles into the bathroom and Dom slowly makes his way to the dining table.

Arthur follows Sarah into the kitchenette. “Um…”

Sarah flicks at Arthur’s forehead. “Don’t worry about it, punk. This just means my idiot brother added another idiot to our family, right?”

Arthur’s face scrunches.

“Sorry.”

“Shut up. Come here,” she throws an arm around Arthur, “Let’s eat before Dom vomits over my hard work. And you better buy me a new pair of pantyhose. Those were the thirty pound ones that I got at half-off.”

“Got it.” 

\---

It’s been a cloudy day with the sun hidden behind swathes of cirriform clouds.

Arthur’s laying on the roof of the stairs, head pillowed on his blazer, watching the clouds float across the sky. He can hear the sounds of people chattering as they leave school, another day done.

The sound of the door opens and closes under him. Footsteps walk around the roof.

“Arthur, I know you’re here. Dom told me he saw you come up here,” Eames sighs.

Arthur obstinately stays quiet, willing Eames to leave.

“Will you please come down?” Eames pleads.

Another formation of clouds drifts over.

“I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you,” a sigh, “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

“What are sorry for?” Arthur relents and shows his face, looking down at Eames in front of the doorway. “I’m the one that hurt you. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Eames shakes his head, “Yes, I do. I said things I don’t mean in the heat of the moment and I’m sorry.”

“Well, what you said was right. I’m always running away.” Arthur bites his lip. “I’m going to try and change that.”

“You don’t have to change anything. Even if you are like this, Sarah will still love you. Ari and Dom, too.”

“I know that.”

“Me, too.” Eames stares steadfast at Arthur, holding his gaze.

Arthur pulls himself away from the ledge and Eames sighs again.

“Hey, I want to look at your face properly and talk.”

“We’ll talk if you come up here.” Arthur can almost hear Eames rolling his eyes at his petulance.

There’s the sound of something dropping to the ground and footsteps walk away. Arthur sees Eames has distanced himself from the doorway and readies himself before breaking into a run and propelling up to pull himself over the ledge, face burning with exertion.

It’s impressive despite the fact that Arthur knows there’s a ladder around back to climb.

“Hey now, don’t go neglecting your body’s training while you’re off canoodling,” Arthur says.

Eames face darkens as he stains to pull himself up. “How about a little help then?”

“How about you just give up already?”

“No!” Eames shouts in frustration.

“Why not!”

“I don’t know! But I don’t want to just be ‘normal friends’. I don’t want this to be the end. That’s why,” he manages to get a knee over, “Me and you are not just this and that. I want me and you,” he grunts, “With or without pantyhose. I want you--” he begins to lose his footing and Arthur moves forward to grab his arm and pull.

Eames topples over and onto Arthur, sweat dripping down his brow. He props himself up over Arthur.

“All I know is that that’s the only answer I can come up with right now.”

“What do you even mean?” Arthur feels the bump of his ponytail digging into the back of his head.

“Just. That thinking about you with other people and being okay with me not being around… Thinking about you finding someone else to be around… My stomach feels like it’s going to be crushed. I don’t want to be ‘normal’ anything with you, Arthur. And if that’s the case, I want to at least try this out!”

Eames cups Arthur’s cheek and turns him to look at him.

“So please stop running and try taking this risk.”

He leans down to kiss Arthur, who resists but doesn’t avoid his kiss.

“Are you okay?” Eames knocks his forehead against Arthur’s.

Arthur blushes and nods.

Eames looks him in the eyes and takes his face in his hands. “This time open your lips,” he tentatively brings his mouth back down to meet Arthur’s, gently coaxing, “ And do what I do.” His tongue reaches out and laps at the seam of Arthur’s lips, cracking them open; their tongues meet and Eames surges down to seal their mouths together with a searing heat.

They spend minutes kissing and panting into each other’s mouths. Tongues gliding over one another, in and out, as a haze settles over the two. Their bodies flush and heating each other up under the sun.

Arthur whines and reaches up to wind his arms around Eames’ broad shoulders, drawing him in closer. Eames cards his fingers through Arthur’s hair and loosens the hair tie so that he can tug and pull Arthur’s head back to gain access to his neck; his other hand moves to shake loose Arthur’s tie and his mouth follows to kiss at his neck, gently sucking. Arthur’s whole body jerks and his breath hitches.

Eames grins and his hand travels downwards to ruck up Arthur’s shirt from his pants, grazing over Arthur’s bulge. “Let’s move where it’s harder to see us.”

They shift back towards the center of the hatch where Arthur’s blazer was discarded; Eames shucks his off as well. “Get on my lap.” Eames maneuvers Arthur’s legs to lay over his and wrap around his back. Arthur’s fingers nimbly but shakily unbuttons his shirt as Eames undoes his tie and continues to lick at Arthur’s neck.

When the last button slips out, Eames runs his hands up and down Arthur’s torso. “I forgot to do this last night because I was too distracted,” he ducks down to lap at a nipple and Arthur cries out, “Not this time.” He works quickly on Arthur’s buckle and reaches into his underwear to grab his cock; his other hand reaches around to palm at his lower back to steady him.

“Ah, Eames!” Arthur lurches and a spurt of precum dribbles out.

Eames sweeps a thumb across the head to gather the precum, “You’re much easier to understand than the one you’re attached to, aren’t you?” he grins, bringing his thumb to his mouth to suck.

Arthur digs his fingers into Eames’ shoulders. “Can you not say that when we’re like this!” he flushes, jolting when Eames’ hand returns to grip his cock and strokes. It’s long and lean like Arthur’s legs, jutting out from a dark, curly patch of hair. He tightens his hand and throws in an upward twist, eliciting a cry from Arthur.

Eames bites at his lower lip and noses at Arthur’s neck, breathing in his scent. “Are you going to touch mine, too?”

With no response, Arthur drops his head to Eames’ shoulder, deciding instead to work at Eames’ ties and buttons. A muscular chest emerges and Arthur runs a reverent hand down it, reveling in the well-cut ridges of Eames’ polo-toned abs and the sharp intake it produces from Eames. He tweaks at a dusky nipple to return the earlier favor. Eames growls and Arthur finally moves to undo Eames’ trousers; the front of Eames’ pants has a large wet spot. “Well, don’t just stare at it,” Eames all but pleads, shifting his hips up, “You’re driving me crazy here, darling.”

Arthur smiles and pulls Eames’ cock out. It stands proudly at attention, favoring a leftwards lean; its thick girth bobs and jumps with each breath. Arthur wraps a tentative hand around it, feeling the velveteen pull of the skin when he tugs. Eames shudders out a hot breath and Arthur’s encouraged to stroke faster. He brings his other hand to tug at Eames’ foreskin, partly in curiosity, smearing the precum around the crown. Eames moans and pulls Arthur in for another open-mouthed kiss.

The open air fills with the sounds of their beating hands and heaving breaths. They focus on nothing but stroking the other’s cock and kissing.

Arthur’s legs begin twitching as he gets closer to coming, tightening around Eames’ waist. “Eames… I’m close…”

Eames shifts his hand from Arthur’s lower back to down his underwear, gently teasing his crack. Arthur jumps in surprise.

“Wait! We are not doing that here.” Arthur shakes his head and tries to scoot back.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’m skilled.” Eames’ fingers continues their descent, while the other continues to stroke. “Granted, it’s my first time with a bloke.”

“That doesn’t reassure me at all!” Arthur jolts when Eames’ finger brushes against his hole. “Ah, Eames!”

Eames rubs the pad of his finger over Arthur’s hole, feeling it twitch and clench. “Just relax, Arthur.” His finger dips in slightly.

Arthur yelps and squeezes Eames’ cock in a tight grip. “Don’t get carried away, you posh ass,” he grits out, firmly tugging at the offending cock.

“Yes, ah, sorry, Arthur,” Eames squeaks out, both arms now wrapped around Arthur’s body, holding him close as if to smother the pain. “Terribly sorry. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Arthur glares at Eames but blushes. “I didn’t say it hurt,” he shifts in Eames’ lap, bringing his cock into his hand with Eames’ and stroking, “Just… give me a moment to recalibrate.”

The new sensation of their two cocks rubbing against each other produces a low moan from them both. Eames palms at Arthur’s ass and brings their mouths together again to fiercely kiss. With Arthur’s permission, he brings a hand to Arthur’s mouth, pressing his fingers in for Arthur to suck. Once thoroughly wet, Eames reaches back into Arthur’s pants and slowly dips in, moaning at the searing heat of Arthur’s ass swallowing his finger.

Arthur gasps at the intrusion but rocks onto the finger, cock twitching with every movement of Eames’ thick finger. His arms wrap around Eames’ neck and rises to his knees to gain more leverage to sink further down the finger. Another finger slips into Arthur’s hole, scissoring to open Arthur more, who sobs at the pleasure of the stretch.

“Another, give me another,” Arthur mouths at Eames’ ear, sucking on a lobe, “Give me a third.”

“You’ll be the death of me, pet,” Eames groans, acquiescing as his other hand kneads Arthur’s cheek to spread him wider. The tight ring of Arthur’s hole gives to a third finger, and Arthur ruts back and forth against Eames, cock leaving wet trails on his abs. “You want to come on my fingers?”

“Not yet,” Arthur whimpers, scooting back and removing Eames’ fingers to hastily yank of his shoes and socks, tossing them aside before shimmying out of his pants. Eames spreads out their blazers so Arthur can lay back, covered only by his splayed open button-up, cock jutting up.

“Truly the death of me, Arthur,” Eames whispers, carding his fingers through Arthur’s sweat-matted hair and tucking it behind Arthur’s ear. He settles himself into the devastating v of Arthur’s legs.

“Shut up, and get on with it, Eames.” Arthur whines, pulling him down into another kiss, urging him to go on by locking his legs around Eames’s waist. They groan when their cocks rub against each other, taking a moment to savor the drag of wet skin.

“Hey, there’s a condom in my right back pocket. Take it out,” Eames says into Arthur’s neck, arms preoccupied with propping himself up.

Arthur grumbles as he reaches around to grope at Eames’ pocket. “A bit presumptuous much?” he finds the condom and presents it. “Or, do you always carry one around?”

“I like to think my best attribute is my resourcefulness. And these are the ones with lube, too,” Eames smirks, “Want to see a trick? Hold it here.” He motions Arthur to bring the condom to his mouth.

Arthur holds steady as Eames’ plush lips cover a corner of the plastic before giving the wrapper a sharp tug with his teeth, ripping the packaging open and exposing the condom. Eames glances down at Arthur and winks, spitting the corner out. “Not bad, right?”

If Arthur wasn’t already lying down, he imagines he’d probably have swoon. Not that he’ll ever let Eames know.

“Sometimes I can’t fucking believe you, Eames,” Arthur pulls out the condom, “Come here, let me put it on.” He pinches the tip and rolls the lubricated condom all the way down Eames’ cock until it’s seated snuggly at the base. He can’t help but take a swat at Eames’ balls and squeezes his legs when Eames struggles. “Payback,” he smiles, looking up through his lashes at a flushed Eames.

Eames shifts to angle his cock to Arthur’s opening, rubbing back and forth with the head catching, teasing Arthur until he whines. “Payback, darling,” Eames grins, guiding his cock to Arthur’s twitching hole and pushing in.

Arthur is tight and hot and mewling, and it takes every ounce of Eames’ control not to slam into the heat until he comes. Instead, he slowly eases in, thanking the slide of the lube, and pets at Arthur’s hair. “Are you all right?” His cock jumps inside Arthur, who squeezes deliciously around Eames.

“Ah… ah!” Arthur grips at Eames’ shoulder, his cries getting increasingly louder as Eames goes deeper and deeper. “Mhm, ah!”

The jut of Eames’ hips fit flush against Arthur’s ass when his cock finally sinks all the way in. He gives an experimental roll and Arthur mewls at the pull, biting at his lips. Another roll drags a long and loud moan from Arthur, who’s arms fall helplessly to the side.

Eames feels his balls clench at the sight of Arthur so untethered. “I’m so very chuffed you’re so loud, but…” Eames wraps his hand around Arthur’s mouth, muffling his cries, “Can’t have anyone hearing what’s mine.” He braces himself against the ground and pulls out until just the tip of his cock is still in Arthur before slamming back in.

Arthur sobs into Eames’ hand and tightens his legs, pulling Eames in closer. He shakes against their blazers and clutches at Eames’ other hand to intertwined their fingers. They rock against each other. Eames grunting as he pounds harshly and wildly into Arthur; Arthur arching into Eames, offering himself as the pressure builds in his balls.

“Please, Eames, please,” he cries, struggling out from under Eames’ hand to yank him down into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. “I can’t, ah, please!” He trembles as his orgasm nears.

Wrapping an arm around Arthur’s neck, Eames brings him close and pistons with earnest, while his other hand comes between them and finds Arthur’s flushed cock. The copious precum spilling over squelches as Eames’ hand wraps around Arthur’s length and jerks him off.

Sure enough, Arthur tenses and arches off the ground, sobbing loudly as he cums, spilling over Eames’ fingers and onto his stomach. He vibrates as his orgasm racks through his body, cock twitching and ass clenching around Eames. Releasing his leg vice on Eames, he slumps back down with eyes glazed over.

Eames whimpers at the sight of Arthur’s debauched form, balls tensing in anticipation. He reaches back to hook his arms under Arthur’s legs and resumes his pounding, resolute and relentless. Arthur pulls Eames down and touches their foreheads together, shakily breathing into Eames’ open mouth.

“Come on, Eames. Come in me. Come on.”

“Arthur, I’m so close, so close,” his face flushed, “Yes… yes, yes, yes!” Eames’ mouth falls open in a broken sob and feels his own ass clench as he thrusts his release into Arthur, trying to cum as deep as he can, hips jerking helplessly, filling the condom. He falls into Arthur’s neck, heaving to catch his breath as his body wracks with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Minutes pass before either of them can speak. They stay wrapped around each other until their breathing evens out; Arthur running a soothing hand down Eames’ back.

“I’m dead,” Eames slurs, slowly pulling himself out of Arthur, “You really killed me.” He carefully slides off the condom and deftly ties it off.

Arthur winces as he stretches out his legs, hip bones popping. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to have killed you when you definitely killed me first.”

Eames lies back down next to Arthur and intertwines their fingers, “I did, didn’t I?” He reaches over and tweaks one of Arthur’s nipples in affirmation and is punished with a tsk and a swat.

The clocktower chimes to signal the hour.

They don’t move until the next.

\---

Sarah finds herself seated on the loveseat with Arthur and Eames kneeling in front of her; the coffee table has been pushed aside.

“Yes?” she swirls a glass of white wine in her hand. Her slipper bobs on her foot as she she bounces her crossed leg.

“Please, let me go on the graduation trip.” Arthur has on a severe expression; Eames looks just as serious.

“Come again?” She takes a sip to hide her smirk.

Arthur hands her a detailed spreadsheet. “This is my budget and work schedule for the next month and a half. I calculated that I can cover at least two-thirds of the trip fee, so please help me with the last third.”

Eames nods. “I looked it over. You wouldn’t even need to pay that much.”

Both Levine siblings glare at Eames, who shrinks back with hands raised in defense.

“Don’t even think about it,” Sarah puts on her sternest expression.

It works because Arthur’s face almost drops, and Sarah can’t take it anymore and shoves her phone in his startled face, showing off her email from HR.

“Because guess who just got promoted!” She downs the rest of her glass.

“Really?” Arthur pulls her into a hug. “That’s amazing! You deserve it, Sarah.”

“You bet I do. So now you better believe that I’m going to pay for the entire trip and there’s nothing you can do about it, you punk. Save you money for Paris.” Sarah dances as she moves to the kitchenette to start dinner.

Eames grabs Arthur’s hand and give it a kiss. “See, darling, everything’s turning out all right.”

Arthur looks at Eames and takes in his earnest face and stubble.

A warm feeling spreads throughout his body.

“Fine,” Arthur squeezes Eames’ hand, “If it’s just every once and a while, I’ll wear them for you.”

“What…” Eames’ face brightens. “Do you mean?”

Arthur’s face flushes. “Yes! I mean the pantyhose,” he whispers.

Eames tackles Arthur to the ground with a kiss. “You’re too good to me, darling!”

“Yeah, I know!” Arthur halfheartedly struggles to get up from under him, content to take in Eames’ warmth.

Ariadne walks into the apartment and sees them in a pile. “Have I walked in on something again?” Dom’s following in behind her.

“What are you two doing here?” Arthur asks.

“Sarah texted mum with the good news so she made me bring over some cake.” Ariadne motions to the bag Dom’s carrying. “Dom was over at mine planning for the trip, so I dragged him along.”

“Arthur’s going! I convinced him!” Eames proudly proclaims.

“For real?” Dom exclaims, depositing the cake on the table. “That’s great!”

Ariadne moves to the kitchenette to hug Sarah in congratulations. “I don’t even want to know how you convinced him, Eames.”

“Well, if you must know, Ari--”

“I swear to fucking God, Eames,” Sarah throws her slipper at his head. “Take it into the bedroom!”

“All right, then, fine. Arthur and I shall go ‘plan’ what things we’re going to get up to in Paris.” Eames pulls Arthur up. “Do save us some cake.”

“And I already know the boutique where they sell the best pantyhose,” Arthur whispers into Eames’ ear.

**Author's Note:**

> Do let me know if you caught any mistakes. Thanks for reading. x
> 
> (For those of you waiting on my other fic, 'Like Fathers, Like Son,' it's been a hot fucking minute and I'm sorry for those of you who've been patiently waiting and also thank you for all the love. I'm not guaranteeing it'll be updated anytime soon, but so long as you're subscribed, you could get a chapter in the near future!)


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